Bob BBQ

This morning when we arrived at Gan, two other girls were busy playing in the kitchenette corner, and they had left a Bob the Builder doll on the "burners" of the pretend oven.

Raphaela, with a serious and concerned look on her face, tugged at my shirt and whispered to me, "Mommy, they are cooking Bob.  They are COOKING Bob!"

Happy Birthday to Me!

Raphaela plays "birthday party" every day. If she is wearing casual clothing, she changes into a Shabbat dress and chooses a crown from her collection.  She sets the table with a table cloth and a pretend cake, and organizes toys and books and cards with birthday blessings.  We sing songs to the honoree, sometimes her imaginary friends like Bob the Builder and his "friend" Wendy, the vowels of the ABC or her stuffed dolls, sometimes to Raphaela herself.

My daughter has taught me that every day is a reason to celebrate and to recognize in joy who we are, to remember that we all deserve to be surrounded by people who love us and enjoy our company.

Today, for my birthday, Raphaela gave me one of her crowns and asked me to wear it all day, even while she spent the day in Gan.  I was more than happy to comply and not at all embarrassed to be a grown adult walking around the street in public (the post office, the shopping mall, the bank) with a wreath of flowers on my head.

In fact, rather than get funny looks, the random population of Jerusalem embraced my special day:  When I walked into the bakery on Palmach, the staff and seated patrons burst out in song.
At the makeup counter, an older Israeli woman (a complete stranger) played with the curls on my hair, declared me a Leo and wished me health and success.
In the supermarket, the computer printed out a special birthday wish at the bottom of my receipt.
When I collected Raphaela from Gan, her teachers organized an impromptu dance of celebration.

I had hoped to get away for my birthday, but taking advantage of the fact that Raphaela has a full day of quality child care until August, I chose to wait until her actual Summer vacation for us to have an adventure together.  Instead I took a day off from work and ignored patient calls.  I spent the morning eating a leisurely breakfast and doing some creative writing. 

While my afternoon errands were fairly commonplace, I did not feel rushed in any way and the cashier at the supermarket, an Ethiopian woman whom I have known for many years, remarked that I had a relaxed glow to my face.  The nine hours that Raphaela spent at Gan belonged to me, without any responsibility or timetable, and it felt wonderful.

I need to do this more often.

The Next Generation

This morning at her usual hour of 5:30, Raphaela woke up and in a state of semi-delirium said, "Where's the ipad?"

I looked at her and said, "Really?  First thing out of your mouth? How about 'Good morning' or 'Hello Mommy' or even 'What can I have for breakfast'?"

Raphaela shrugged a bit and explained, "But I have to say good morning to Bob the Builder!"

I fear for the Tech Generation.

Only in Jerusalem

Always educational, in anticipation of Yom Yerushalaim, Raphaela's nursery has begun to teach the children the history of Jerusalem, especially the Old City.  Surrounded by a wall, the Old City hosts eight gates, and walking home, Raphaela and I could only name four of them.  Because I detest ignorance, I thought we might go home and use the resources of the Internet to find our answer, and then we passed by a local book store.  Inspired, I took my daughter inside and asked the employees if they had any books about Jerusalem, and/or if they happened to know offhand the names of all the gates.

With the help of the staff of the book store and another customer, in a friendly yet competitive trivia contest, Raphaela and I were able to walk away with the complete information.

Raphaela's favorite gate is "Shaar Ashpot," translated from the Hebrew as The Dung (or Garbage) Gate;  named so because it is through this gate, the closest to the Western Wall, that Elijah is meant to come aridin' on his white donkey to announce the arrival of the Jewish Messiah.  Previous conquerors of the city had piled their garbage there, thinking it would prevent the resurgence of the Jewish nation and the arrival of the Talmudic Messiah.

When I asked Raphaela why it was called The Garbage Gate, her mind immediately jumped to a recent Eco-Dora episode, in which an evil octopus was polluting the oceans with trash and threatening the balance of nature under the sea.  My daughter assured me that naturally, this octopus is responsible as well for violating the walls and gates of Jerusalem.

(Raphaela also regularly reminds me that Bob the Builder is the foreman on any construction project in our area.  Who knew?)

Red Hot Chili Peppers

Despite all sorts of international pressure to boycott Israel, the Red Hot Chili Peppers came to our little country, visited the Western Wall before their concert, and then performed last night in Tel Aviv.

I did not go to the concert, because it would have meant figuring out a place for Raphaela for the approximately 12 hours she would have needed care;  it would have meant arranging for someone to pick her up from Gan and take her home until this morning, in order to arrive in time for the concert  by 6:30 pm. While we have many good friends, at this point Raphaela will not stay with them alone for more than several hours.

The pre-Mommy adult went to movies and concerts, and listened to the RHCP; that person I was before I had a child had the freedom to take the weekend and travel, or just sit on the beach and read a good book;  the woman I was before I had Raphaela could get involved in either frivolous relationships, or try out a more serious connection and experiment without worrying too much about the consequences.  The Me that I was before Raphaela could sleep past five in the morning, and could get in a nap on Shabbat without having an interruption every five minutes, "Are you sleeping Mommy?"

I know that today is September 11, and I should be saying something deep about the import of the day.  I know that Rosh HaShanah fast approaches, and I will state for the record that I am eternally grateful that both I and my daughter are healthy, and that I have the privilege of watching her grow into an amazing human being every day.

So, G-d, Universe and Everything, thank you, and please keep us safe and well this next year and beyond.

But I am also a woman who has no instant family as baby sitters, no secret account or trust fund that allows me to work part-time or take even the brief Sabbatical I need after almost 17 years of working in the field of Chiropractic.  I run  and react and serve others from the moment I wake up until the moment I collapse in bed at night, worrying if I have done enough to take care of us as a family,  and to make a difference on the planet.  I am also the woman who has not been intimate with a man for way too long, has not taken a vacation for close to five years; I miss the days when I would choose a random European country and wander around, meeting the citizens, observing natural wonders and learning a new language.  I am the adult who has had way too many conversations with a three year old about bodily functions and Dora the Explorer and Bob the Builder.

Our planned trip to the States in November for Thanksgiving, it is my gift to Raphaela so she can get to know her cousins and extended family.  I am paying for the entire trip myself, and I am under no illusions that this family affair will qualify as my vacation.

I wanted to go to that concert last night, I really really did, for me this day and the person who used to inhabit this body.  I am burning out, and this morning I am feeling tired and resentful, instead of appreciating the blessings I have in my life.

Bob the Builder

Raphaela recently discovered the television programs, Bob the Builder and Thomas and Friends, and we watch it every day for all of its ten minutes before bath time.  I have several observations as an adult and a parent as to its so-called educational value, as well of some questions:

One, are Bob and Wendy dating?  Is Bob turned on by the fact that Wendy has as much skill in  construction, or does he find it threatening as a man?

What is the general phenomenon of talking vehicles, such as the trucks in Bob the Builder or the trains in Thomas and Friends?  As an adult, I find it odd and at times scary, especially the expressions on the face of the trains in the Thomas and Friends.  (I am impressed, however, that they convinced Ringo Starr to narrate.)  Perhaps the reason that every show features a crash or injury due to negligence is because trains are not supposed to talk unless they are possessed a la Stephen King, and cement mixers with ADD are not meant to be left alone to finish the job.

What kind of message does Bob the Builder send to children with the scarecrow character Spud?  This individual in the show, in every show, plays pranks, disobeys instructions, refuses to do his job and holds back the group with his lack of consideration and carelessness.  Instead of teaching him, it becomes a joke, and it tells children that you can misbehave and not experience the consequences of your actions.  Every show has Spud saying, "Sorry Bob, I won't do it again."  And lo and behold, he has forgotten his promise by the next show.

Spud is like Gilligan, vote him off the island and their little world will be a better place.

Random note to the politically astute, Barack Obama poached his campaign from Bob.  "Yes We Can!" is a trademark of Bob the Builder, and I wonder if the President had any qualms about stealing from a children's show.

Yes, both Bob the Builder and Thomas teach teamwork and some version of socialization and morality, but I do feel the need to watch it with Raphaela, and make sure that the better lessons are understood and stated clearly.

Quite frankly, I would rather introduce Raphaela to classic Star Trek episodes, we would both enjoy it more.